Trick me Twice
by MajinSakuko
Summary: Complete & Sequel! Nobody likes to be tricked. Least of all Snape. Draco, though, manages - and turns his world upside down within days.
1. Once Doesn't Count

Title: Trick me Twice

Chapter: 1. Once Doesn't Count

Author: MajinSakuko

E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de

Beta-Reader: Persephone Lupin

Dedication: Zwergin, for her important input ;P

Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing/Main-Chara: SS, DM

Rating: PG-13

Genre/s: Drama

Warning/s: hints of slash (HP/DM), abrupt ending

A/N: Inspired both by Twisted Usia's "Seeking You" and Persephone Lupin's "The Last Boat"

Summary: Nobody likes to be tricked. Least of all Snape. Draco, though, manages – and turns his world upside down within days.

-

He never saw it coming.

Even if Severus Snape prided himself in knowing how to read his students (especially his Slytherins), he had not foreseen the turn that Draco Malfoy would take for his future. Never had he wanted to let his self-proclaimed charge follow his father's path – or his path for that matter. Sometimes, however, the decision was not his to make. And sometimes, even the almighty Albus Dumbledore failed one of his sheep.

---

Snape was on his way to the dungeons to prepare for his next class of dunderheads when he heard yelling and shouting coming from one of the side hallways. Years of experience told him it had to be the Potter brat, and from the choice of curse words (ferret, albino and so on) it didn't need a genius to figure out whom the boy had a quarrel with – once again.

"Stop acting as if it were the end of the world, Potty," Draco drawled. "You'll surely accommodate in time."

"I won't stop anything until you stop calling me Potty, you deceiving little ferret! How-" It sounded as if Potter was choking halfway. "HOW DARE YOU?!"

Then a crash was heard, and Snape deemed it time to make his presence known. Surely he would find the brat once again in a compromising situation that would cost Gryffindor at least ten points. Ten points might appear insignificant today but they would prove essential in the greater schemes of the House rivalry. This thought in mind, Snape rounded the corner, sneer firmly in place, his arms crossed in a haughty manner.

Potter held Draco pinned to the stonewall, pressing his forearm to the blond's throat to hinder any movement. One hand was clamped around his wand, pointing at Draco's face.

"Tell me, Blondie," Potter whispered furiously, and Snape found he couldn't bring himself to interrupt just yet. Maybe if he waited a few more seconds and the brat actually uttered a threat, the Potions master could start deducting points and giving detentions in earnest. "Just tell me one good reason why I shouldn't curse you to the moon and back. You know I can do it, don't you? Because you know me, not as well as I thought I knew you, but you know me a bit, at least. Tell me – Draco."

Snape was taken aback by the uncanny serenity of the brat. He had seen him introverted, had sneered when he was down and even Potter ablaze with fury was nothing new to the man. However, these coolly calculated words suited a Slytherin far better than the unruly Golden Boy. Snape couldn't see the brat's face, as he was standing with his back to him, slightly towering over the smaller Draco, but he knew he wouldn't like what he might see.

"Hexing me to the moon and back would require an awful lot of power," the blond drawled far too condescendingly for someone in his position. "How would you manage to win against the Dark Lord, then?"

Potter's left hand slammed into Draco's chest, causing the boy to bend over convulsively, gasping for breath.

"Don't say that name!" the Gryffindor screamed, grabbing the blond again and shaking him angrily. "Don't you dare utter that NAME!!"

Snape needed a couple of seconds to react; he was surprised by the unusual event of Harry Potter, of all people, saying that line. 'Don't utter that name!' Snape felt his heart clench at the thought that Draco had said it. 'The Dark Lord.' The phrase to speak of Voldemort that was only used by Death Eaters and himself on occasion.

"Potter!" he snarled before his throat constricted any more. "Fighting in the hallway, are we now? Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

The boy jerked but didn't turn around. He leant forwards quickly, whispering something in Draco's ear, causing the blond to flush, whether from anger or from embarrassment Snape didn't know.

"Let go off Mr. Malfoy this instance, Potter, or it will be twenty points more – or should I say less?" he added forcefully.

Potter pushed the other boy back with a huff. "I don't care how many points you deduct," he growled, turning around in a flash and storming past the Potions master.

Snape gritted his teeth, determined not to show how angry he was at this disrespectful behaviour. The next time he saw Potter he would make sure to deduct twice as many points. Yes, that was definitely something to look forward to.

The next task, however, certainly was not.

Carefully schooling his features into a blank mask, Snape regarded Draco, who had fallen to the floor, coolly. Squishing the urge to ask whether he was all right (because, really, why would he still be lying ungracefully on the ground when he was?), Snape's hand clamped down on the boy's shoulder, hauling him roughly to his feet.

"You are a Slytherin, are you not?" he asked lowly. "So, if you cared to heed my advice at all, it would probably be wise to consider the possibility of holding your potential future fights with Mr. Potter somewhere not that public."

Draco shrugged Snape's hand off with a sharp jerk, lowering his head, and glaring up through his fringes at the much taller man. "I don't think I need any advice from you – sir," he snorted, and then, without a backward glance, strutted away, around the corner and out of sight.

Snape was left standing alone, oblivious to how fast his life would turn upside down.

---

Two days had passed. Snape had used every free minute – which wasn't really all that much, mind – to wrack his brain over the problem with Draco. He couldn't let the boy run headfirst into his doom. Of course, Snape hadn't told Dumbledore a single word; he would do this on his own. Draco was his charge, not Dumbledore's, never Dumbledore's.

He himself had believed the great Headmaster could prevent Lucius from forcing him over to the Dark Side but obviously, Dumbledore had failed.

Snape wouldn't give him the chance to fail a second time.

Not Draco.

Never Draco.

---

Snape was grading papers, scribbling nasty comments in crimson ink all over the pages, as the door to his office was ripped open. Before he had the chance to snarl at the intrusion on his privacy (office hours be damned,) however, the annoying Granger-girl was already babbling something incoherent.

"Although, judging by your behaviour, I can deduct that my immediate presence is requested somewhere," he drawled in his most sarcastic voice, hoping to all deities that the know-it-all wouldn't start crying as well, because she sure looked precariously close, "you will have to start speaking in English, Granger."

The girl nearly choked on her words, but took the hint, drawing one quick soothing breath, before crying out, "It's Malfoy!"

That was all the incentive Snape needed, and in a flash he was on his feet, rushing past Granger, not really caring whether she followed or not, because he was, by all means, a Slytherin. And he knew that, from the earthy smell of the girl, they had to have either Herbology or Care for Magical Creatures. However, as Slytherin had Herbology together with Ravenclaw, that only left the latter.

Remembering the episode with the Hippogriff, Snape stopped his mind from coming up with horrible scenarios. Draco couldn't be injured, at least not too severely. But then, why would Granger look for him and not merely Pomfrey?

"It- it was horrible," the girl panted, jogging to keep up with his brisk pace, "all the blood ..."

"Quiet!" Snape hissed, shooting a quick glare at Granger that shut her up instantly. He didn't want to hear any of it, couldn't bear the mental images. Surely she was exaggerating. Hagrid might be a great oaf with a preference for far too dangerous creatures, but he was not that incompetent. The half-giant couldn't possibly let one of his students get seriously hurt, could he?

Together they rushed towards Hagrid's hut. Even from afar, Snape was able to make out the rather large group of students standing huddled around something, and his heartbeat quickened.

The nearer they got, however, the more Snape decelerated, a slow sense of dread filling him.

Draco was standing a bit offside, obviously well and healthy, though a bit annoyed, judging by him rolling his eyes. Hagrid was towering over him, lecturing him, trying – and obviously failing – to intimidate the boy.

Snape stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the blood that had splattered Hagrid's clothes. His eyes flickered to the crowd to the side, glimpsing a sudden flash of something big, hairy – and obviously dead.

"-he sneered and just like that," the Granger-girl was babbling again, and Snape let her, needing the time for his brain to accommodate, "-it must have been some Dark Arts spell- never heard of it before- Harry couldn't even-"

Snape took another deep breath, reorganising his void thoughts, before heading for Draco. Draco looked up at him as he advanced, smirking, and Snape fought hard not to falter in his step.

Hagrid, clearly close to losing his temper, grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, but before he could shake him – or whatever he intended to do – Snape interfered.

"That should be enough," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion since he couldn't decide yet what to feel. Relief about the fact that Draco wasn't injured; consternation about that he hadn't prevented his stupid act; regret at that he hadn't seen any signs earlier? "I believe it's time for a visit with the Headmaster, Mr. Malfoy." Even if Snape didn't want to tell Dumbledore about his worries, he certainly could not let this go unmentioned. Hagrid was sure to inform him, in any case.

Draco smirked again, wiping his hands and then clamping them behind his back. "As you believe," he said sweetly, starting towards the castle.

"Me poor baby," Hagrid wailed, blowing his nose into a tablecloth-like tissue. "Las' time Malfoy was teh way a'ready, if on'y I'd paid summat more attention an' now," he sobbed, "me poor baby!"

Snape remained emotionless – after all, who cared for whatever creature had been killed when the murderer was none other than Draco?

---

From there on, everything was going downhill. Draco spent more time being lectured by Dumbledore than in the Slytherin common room – as if the old meddling coot could talk some sense into the boy. Dumbledore was everything a Malfoy had learned to despise; he couldn't succeed in changing his mind.

Snape should have been able. He should have been able to prevent it from ever happening in the first place. However, he had failed. Again. And this time, it was not his life he'd gambled away but the life of a – previously – innocent.

---

Five days later, things were not only going downhill, they were going downcliff – without bungee or wand for that matter.

Being called by Voldemort usually was bad enough – being treated as suspected spy took the blame for that. This time, however, it was even worse.

Having to grovel at the feet of his so-called master was more than humiliating already; moreover, being subjected to the occasional Crucio was not that high on his top ten list of leisure activities, either.

Voldemort let his gaze sweep about the ring of Death Eaters assembled around him, his demeanour one of utter calmness, as if there wasn't a teenage boy who was the bane of his existence, who refused to be killed, and who would soon be trained enough to kill him instead.

"Much time has gone by," Voldemort said softly, a cool breeze seeming to rush through the dungeon room, and Snape repressed a shiver. "Much time, indeed. Harry Potter should not have the means to be so elusive ..." his voice trailed off, and he turned around. Wormtail scrambled out of the way as Voldemort leisurely made his way over to his stone throne.

"Dumbledore is nothing more than a fool," he continued, and if the Dark Lord hadn't behaved so strangely, the Death Eaters would have agreed with his statement. But they kept silent, and Snape began feeling queasy.

Voldemort motioned for Nagini to slither over to him, which she did elegantly. Her dark green scales glittered in the shine of the hearth. Flickering her tongue in the air, she hissed softly, letting herself be petted by the skeletal hand of her master.

"There are, however, more fools than Dumbledore," he went on, his burning eyes fixed on Nagini. "Fools who think they can deceive me."

Snape began to sweat but forced himself to stay calm. This was hardly the first time that Voldemort uttered accusations about potential spies – and it had never been him who had died so far.

"Macnair?" Voldemort said, and Snape breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. "Do you have anything of importance to report?"

"No, Master. Nothing of immediate importance."

"Very well," Voldemort almost sighed. Then he flicked his gaze over Snape's left and right neighbour, not resting his eyes as long on the Potions master as on the others. "Then we shall continue with a not so pleasant point on our agenda."

Nagini jerked backwards roughly as if hit by an invisible energy blast.

"I have long suspected that there is one black – or should I say white? - sheep amongst our midst as you all surely remember," the Dark Lord said in a soft voice, again letting his gaze sweep along the circle of his followers. "He has eluded my grasp for long enough now. He has tried to play me," his eyes flashed a dangerous crimson colour, "for a fool. He will not succeed because his identity will be revealed this very night. I am almost sorry to say that I will miss his very dedicated service."

Snape cleared his mind as thoroughly as his nervousness allowed. It wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to receive guilty feelings from him, would it? He had done this a hundred times already; why should this time be any different?

Voldemort rose again, crossing the chamber and entering the circle of his supposedly devoted Death Eaters. He walked slowly, his eyes searching the faces of everyone, and Snape cursed the fact that they had been forced to not wear their masks that day.

"I am severely disappointed," the Dark Lord whispered now, gazing disapprovingly at Crabbe who started shaking visibly.

Snape almost snorted. 'Stupid idiot.'

Voldemort continued his way, nearing Snape, only Goyle and Malfoy still in between them.

"So disappointed," he whispered again, locking his red eyes with Goyle. "How could you deceive me in that manner," he said, Goyle's eyes widened in shock, but before he could start stammering out assurances that he was no traitor – and please, please don't kill me! -, Voldemort tilted his head sideways, flickering his gaze upwards, and ended with a soft, "Severus?"

There was a sudden flash of movement, and Snape found himself tackled and pressed down to the cold floor in a vice grip. Blood trickled slowly from his brow where his forehead had been smashed brutally against the stone and he was feeling faintly dizzy.

'Not like the other times, then,' Snape thought in dark and very inappropriate amusement.

"Oh, and Lucius," Voldemort said softly. "My sincerest congratulations."

"Thank you, Master," Malfoy muttered humbly. "Without your gracious help I wouldn't have been able-"

"That will be enough," Voldemort interrupted gently and Malfoy fell silent immediately.

Snape frowned, an icy chill racing down his spine that had nothing to do with the floor. Cautiously, he lifted his head, and instantly wished he hadn't.

He looked directly into Draco's smirking face.

* * *


	2. Twice in a Row

2. Twice in a Row

Snape held the junk of rock awkwardly in his stiff hands and beat it against the stonewall. After a few minutes of strenuous work, he let go of the rock, panting, and brushed the dust away. With his fingers he counted the ridges, then let his hand fall to the side as he collapsed onto the dirty ground.

"Six days," he sighed tiredly, closing his eyes against a non-existent sting.

Six days had he been in here; six days of almost non-stop torture sessions; six days of wondering why nobody was coming for his rescue – not that he kept dwelling much on the latter point. Even if they never found him, even ... even if they didn't look for him, well, he would die the death of a martyr, and wasn't that worth dying for?

Snape snorted softly. Hadn't he accused Potter of being exactly that way? Were was his fire, his will to survive? It couldn't have crumbled to ashes just because Draco had tricked him – so openly no less.

Or could it?

Snape smirked lopsidedly, listening to his shallow breathing and the gentle tip-tap of the rats that scuttled around in his new dungeon chamber. Blood tasted bitter on his tongue but he swallowed nonetheless, because he wasn't sure when – and if for that matter – he would get something to drink again.

He was on the verge of drifting off to some restless slumber when he heard the door to his cell creak open. Even if he'd had the strength to open his eyes again, he wouldn't have done it. He felt, even through his closed lids, how rays of bright light flittered in – and in his condition, everything more intense than pitch dark was considered bright.

Light foot steps were drawing closer to him, and Snape braced himself mentally for the next bout of torture. He didn't even try to work out who his tormentor was because, honestly, it didn't really matter to him when he was finally left alone, bruised and battered after another couple of hours. The dark always welcomed him, and somehow, Snape returned that favour.

However, the expected torture never came.

"Hey," a voice whispered very lowly, and there were soft fingers touching his forehead while the other hand held a cup of something that smelled precariously like water to his parched lips. "Drink. Quickly."

Maybe it was poison, Snape didn't care. He opened his eyes a fraction, gazing intently into Draco's grey orbs. Then he opened his mouth, feeling the cool trickle of refreshing liquid run down his sore throat, and even if it were poison, it couldn't lead to a death more painful than six days worth of torture.

Mere seconds after Snape had swallowed the last drop of the drink, his insides began to burn like there was a fire raging through him. The burning sensation spread throughout his whole body, and Snape gasped in pain, nearly choking on another few drops of blood leaking from his split lip.

"Shh," Draco said, grabbing Snape's chin and neck, and guiding his head back into a position that left his throat arched and defenceless. "Easy, Professor. Just breathe slowly. The burning will soon be over." He shot a quick glance towards the entrance, sighing softly.

And indeed, slowly the burning dissipated, and Snape remembered that not only Veritaserum looked and tasted just like water, but a very efficient healing potion, as well. He gasped again, his mind unable to process the incoming data, and he felt how Draco's soft fingers wiped away the sweat – or was it blood? – from his face.

"Listen," Draco said urgently, turning so that Snape could see his face, "I don't have much time; neither do you, by the way." He smirked again but this time, Snape registered with some relief that there was nothing sinister in his eyes. "Harry's going to get you soon. I must not be here when he arrives otherwise my position would be-" He stopped abruptly, eyes flashing.

"Doesn't matter," he growled, helping Snape into a sitting position. "All that matters is that you're fit enough to Apparate with Harry, all right?"

"Not even Potter is foolish enough to try a stunt like that," Snape said, keeping his eyes guarded. Even if Draco had administered a healing potion to him, that didn't mean he didn't have an ulterior motive – bringing Snape's hopes up before he squished them, for example. "And I don't believe I'm capable of Apparating on my own – considering there are anti-Disapparation wards all around. Nice try, Draco," there was a bitter note in his voice, "but it's not going to work twice."

Draco glanced to the side, clenching his fists. "You don't understand," he muttered. "I- I had to-" he made an angry noise and whispered furiously, "I'm not supposed to tell you any of this! I'm not even supposed to-"

"You aren't supposed to what?"

"We don't have much time," Draco said, ignoring the question and bestowing his sincerest look upon his former Potions master. "I can't tell you more. And it isn't a trick or anything. I'm-" he swallowed, "I'm sorry. It was the only way and I didn't know-"

Snape frowned. He had never before seen his charge so distressed. What was going on here?

"I swear I didn't know!" Draco said, choking on a few words. "I thought you knew ..."

"Draco?" asked Snape, concern now showing clearly on his face as he reached out with one hand to touch the boy's shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

But the boy had everything back under control again. "We don't have much time left," he said quickly as if he were under a great pressure. "I'm supposed to accompany the Dark Lord," (Snape flinched at the name,) "which is really very fortunate because it means an unquestionable alibi. Harry's going to arrive in the next hour, he's got the coordinates and some Weasley taught him how to break wards. So don't worry about not being able to Apparate out of here, Professor."

Snape's hand held Draco back, though his grip was still relatively weak. Draco sighed. "Harry will tell you everything," he said, not meeting the man's eyes. "He will bring you to a remote town in the east of Ireland and then he'll-"

"You're making no sense, Draco," Snape interjected confusedly. "What am I to do in Ireland? And why should I not-"

"I cannot tell you more," Draco whispered, freeing himself of Snape's hold and getting to his feet.

"Don't act like a bloody house-elf!" Snape snapped. "Your master – or supposed master - I've momentarily lost my overall view – is nowhere in sight! And he can't hear you, otherwise you wouldn't try to help me escape!"

Draco started trembling, though he tried hard to hide it. "I can't- I already said too much- You have no idea!" he stuttered, quickly stumbling to the door. "Harry will tell you everything you need to know! I'm already in too deep!"

Then he was gone, leaving a puzzled Snape behind.

---

"Professor?" a whisper ripped him out of his doze. Snape hadn't known how tired he was, but now, after his formerly constant pains had almost entirely dissipated, he had not been able to resist as sleep beckoned him.

Snape opened one bleary eye and frowned. What or who had woken him up? There was nothing-

There was something in the air, a movement, slick like water, and then Potter was kneeling beside him, holding his blasted Invisibility Cloak in one hand. He looked like always: way too reckless to be comforting. He hadn't even changed his school robes.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Potter asked, and Snape shot him an annoyed glare to shut him up – which he didn't, as always. "I've got some potions if you ..." he trailed off, rummaging in one of his pockets. Then he pulled out a vial – one which was faintly familiar to Snape but he didn't comment on it – unstoppered it and held it to the man's lips.

Snape drank the potion quietly, feeling better instantly. His home-made potions were far better than anything Draco could get his hands on, after all. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat up, repressing a groan; his muscles were still stiff from too little usage in the last week, but apart from that, he didn't feel like he had been tortured at all.

"Are you ready?" Potter asked, moving as if to help him stand up, though in the last moment he thought better of it. "We've got to hurry."

Snape rolled his eyes at this. Was it a new theme? 'We've got to hurry!' Nevertheless, he scrambled to his feet, less gracefully than he would have liked but Potter didn't seem to mind - or expect anything else for that matter.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Snape asked, because he hadn't been absolutely convinced that the brat would come for real. But this was Potter, beyond doubt, for the boy had been sheltered in Hogwarts for the last months, and Polyjuice Potion had to be made with fresh body parts. Moreover, Voldemort had been no different in his last torture session, nothing that could lead Snape to the assumption that the Dark Lord had captured Potter.

The brat flinched, clearly not having anticipated the question. He shot Snape a short look, frowning, before he answered, "I'm here to get you. W-we can't leave you here to die, can we?"

"Don't expect any points for this action."

Potter averted his gaze, causing Snape to frown.

"Potter," said Snape slowly, but the brat only shook his head and set to create a temporal hole in the wards so they could Apparate out. The Potions master watched quietly, not wanting to interrupt his concentration, or they might end up being trapped.

"That's it," Potter gasped after a few minutes, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He shot a grin at the dungeon's other occupant. "You didn't believe I could do it, right?"

"If there had been anti-Apparition wards as well, I would have been worried," Snape said dryly. He doubted that Potter would have been able to come near enough the castle to break through the wards to come in.

Potter's grin faltered. "Shall we now? I have to be back at- I don't have much time."

"What is it about people not being able to talk in full sentences?" Snape snapped. "And don't you dare start about not being able to tell for I refuse to stay oblivious to the on-goings around me!"

"I'll tell you as soon as we're-"

"-in Ireland?" Snape asked. "Why?"

"I'll tell you as soon as we're there, I swear, but now we don't have the time!" Potter begged urgently, and Snape closed his eyes in annoyance.

"Very well."

Potter sighed in relief, grabbing Snape's arm, and then they Disapparated out of sight.

---

Snape found himself in front of a small cottage, which was located amidst a forest. Remote was definitely not an exaggeration.

"Let's get inside," Potter said, his eyes darting nervous glances around as if expecting to be attacked any second. He opened the wooden door to the cottage with a whispered spell, pushing it open and entering quickly.

Snape followed after a moment. That was it. If the brat wasn't going to kill him now, he could be fairly certain that he was rescued. He stepped over the threshold, closing the door firmly behind him. He turned around, finding himself in the centre of a living room full of plebeian furnishings, desk, couch, armchairs, shelves with rows of books. Snape frowned. He didn't intend on staying long.

"Professor?" Potter said, drawing his attention. Then he threw a small stick in his direction, which turned out to be a wand.

Snape caught it deftly, surveying it. He gave a quick swish; it didn't feel like his own wand – which had been burned to ashes – but it would do for a while, before he could go to Diagon Alley and buy a new one.

Potter drew a deep breath. "Okay," he muttered. "I don't really know where I should begin ..." he trailed off, turning around and sitting down on the couch. He threaded his fingers, looking anywhere but at Snape.

"Just spit it out and get it over with," the Potions master growled. "I'd really like to return to my own chambers," (Potter cringed,) "as I'm sure Dumbledore," (Potter cringed again, more violently this time,) "may not be able to cope with all the responsibility ..." Snape trailed off, sighing softly. Even if he didn't look forward to teaching again after his incarceration, returning to Hogwarts, his one safe haven, still meant to return to reality.

"I don't believe you will ..." Potter clenched his fists, looking up abruptly, and Snape was surprised to see angry tears in the teen's eyes. "Look, I'm sorry- I can't believe- I didn't know-"

"Didn't we all?"

"Can I tell you now what I've been trying to tell?" Potter snapped.

"Please, do go on, and don't hurry!"

"I do try, you know? But this is not easy and neither are you helping any!"

"Very well," Snape barked, turning around and striding back to the door. "I'll just leave-"

"You can't return to Hogwarts!" Potter cried. "It's not safe!"

Snape stilled, one hand still on the doorknob. He half turned around, regarding Potter with a blank face. "What?"

"Hogwarts is not safe," Potter repeated. "Not for you."

Snape's eyes strayed to the brat's robe. "But it is for you, eh?"

"Safer for me than for you." Potter lifted his chin. "Please, Professor, sit down. I'll tell you everything I know."

Snape didn't know what compelled him to comply with the Boy-Who-Lived's request, but he did, heading for the single armchair. He sat down slowly, quirking one brow.

"It was planned, down to the last detail," Potter said in a blank voice. "I had no idea what was going on – like you – only Draco," the boy's cheeks reddened slightly, "he was supposed to act the way he did ... He changed characters from one day to the next, like a sloughing off snake, and I was confused and ..."

Snape frowned faintly but chose not to interrupt Potter. Not that he was that interested in the brat's love life – Merlin forbid! – he feared that he would, once interrupted, take another lifetime to start again.

"He broke it off with me," he went on in a rush, "and I was so angry, well, you were present ... I didn't care for anything then. How could Draco call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I couldn't comprehend it and ... When he killed the griffin I thought he was lost for good, but I tried to talk to him again and again. He didn't even listen to me, he just hexed me on first sight, earning himself one detention after the other and plenty audiences with Dumbledore ..."

"I don't really see how this is of any importance here," Snape said, going against his own resolve.

"I didn't either, believe me." Potter smiled sadly. "But after you were captured and I discovered that it had been Draco who betrayed you ... Suddenly, it all made perfectly sense. I was not supposed to rescue you."

"Of course, you were not supposed to rescue me," Snape snapped. How stupid and conceited could the boy be? "That's Aurors' work, not schoolboys' with egos too big for their narrow shoulders!"

Potter averted his gaze, blinking rapidly. "Draco contacted me the day before yesterday," he said softly. "He told me everything, you know, everything ... I couldn't believe him at first. It turned out he was right, though, as you see."

"I don't see anything," Snape growled. "And I'm starting to regret my decision to stay-"

"Your position as a spy was not secure, was it?" Potter interrupted. "Voldemort was getting suspicious again. You don't need to deny it, I saw what he was doing to you ..." He rubbed at his scar. "Voldemort would never have rebuilt his trust in you completely. That's the reason why you had to be," Potter swallowed, his green eyes glistering strangely as he held Snape's gaze, "replaced – and disposed of."

Snape leapt to his feet in a flash. "What are you babbling about, you idiot? Is this some kind of prank? Are you trying to impress your dead father by following in his footsteps?"

Potter only flinched shortly at the reference to his father but otherwise kept very still. "I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering his head.

Snape snorted, angrily making his way over to the door again. "Soon, you'll be even more sorry, rest assured," he snarled.

"You can't return to Hogwarts," Potter said softly. "He will kill you himself. You're a risk now. Draco would have been suspected as a spy immediately if he had tried to help you, so he had to wait till he had a secure alibi."

"You are still talking in riddles. Who is that mysterious 'he' who is going to kill me?" Snape asked dubiously. "Please, do tell me, Potter, I'm dying to know."

"Albus Dumbledore."

-End-

A/N: Livejournal entry 13.12.04


	3. It's Magic!

Title: It's Magic! 

Sequel to "Trick me Twice" 

Author: MajinSakuko 

E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de 

Beta-Reader: JamesMarsters15 

Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else 

Fandom: Harry Potter 

Pairing/Main-Chara: HP, LV 

Rating: PG-13 

Genre/s: Drama 

Warning/s: hints of Slash (HP/DM), C/Ds, mention of Ron/Girlfriend 

Summary: 'Magic is energy.' What did Dumbledore's words mean? And how could they be helpful in the final battle with Voldemort? Harry is going to find out – whether he likes the result or not.

* * *

"Magic is energy," Dumbledore had said.

Harry didn't listen to Dumbledore anymore. At least not without caution. That didn't prevent him from hearing, though. And Dumbledore did talk to him. A lot. About the upcoming final battle, about strategies, about loyalties. And all the time Harry pondered his possibilities. Would he survive this war, at all? Would he see through Dumbledore's manipulative schemes? For even though the Headmaster had declared time and time again, after Harry's fifth year, that he would not keep the boy in the dark any longer, Harry knew better.

Harry had seen Snape. Harry had even rescued Snape. Against Dumbledore's wishes. The old man didn't even know that Harry had left the school grounds those two months ago. He wasn't omniscient, never had been, and after Harry had made friends with the right paintings and ghosts, things got distinctly easier. Sneaking around after curfew had never been that effortless. Dumbledore didn't have a clue what Harry had been up to the last weeks. And if Harry had a say in it, he wouldn't get one either.

Before and after classes, Harry was trained by Dumbledore and a few selected teachers. Battle tactics, hand-to-hand combat, the most efficient spells and curses. Harry could go on like that forever.

He didn't want to, though. He wanted it all to end. And quick.

And he wanted to come out of it, preferably alive and in one piece.

Harry had seen Snape. Harry had even rescued Snape. He didn't want to end like him. An obstacle to the cause. Out-sorted and disregarded.

'Magic is energy?' Harry thought, confused, rubbing at a small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore.

It was a widely known fact that Harry Potter was not one of the brightest students. Therefore it was not without reason that Hermione Granger, one of the brightest witches at Hogwarts, was always by Harry's side. If there was a problem to solve, Harry was sure that Hermione would get it in less than a minute.

So, here he was in the library, sifting through tome after tome. Harry didn't have a clue what they were searching for. What Dumbledore's words had meant. What his look had conveyed after he had realised that he had let something slip. Why it could be so important to the cause.

But Harry didn't ask. Not because he didn't want to know, but because he knew that Hermione wouldn't lie to him. She was, if nothing else, painfully honest.

"Magic is energy!" Hermione cried triumphantly, holding up a small book from the Muggle section. At Madam Pince strict glare, Hermione ducked her head and mumbled an apology. "I've got it," she whispered urgently to Harry. "Let's get out of here."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione were sitting in a secluded section of the Gryffindor common room. Ron was off with his girlfriend and couldn't be disturbed.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked quietly. "Magic is energy?"

"I knew I had heard it somewhere before," Hermione began, brushing her bushy hair back. "Energy is a physics term. It is temporally constant. Do you know what that means?" At Harry's confused look and the shaking of his head, Hermione went on, as if she hadn't expected otherwise. "It means that energy can't be produced – nor can it be destroyed." Here she waited for Harry's understanding, but that wasn't forthcoming.

"I don't get it," he said simply. "I didn't take physics or chemistry in the Muggle world. Energy can't be destroyed – so what?"

Hermione looked almost pained for a second. "So what – no, never mind," she said hastily. "Energy is always in balance. Like a perfect weighing machine, you know? There are different types of energy, of course, warmth, kinetics, potentials, and so on. They change forms. If you want to heat water, for example, you need energy to start the oven. This energy turns to warmth, then it heats the water. Some of the energy will get lost in the oven or the pot, but it won't be destroyed."

"Yeah, I get that much," Harry said, massaging his temples. "Energy can't be destroyed, it's always in balance. And magic is just like energy, right? So you can't destroy magic, either. Which is good, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded solemnly. "In most cases," she said hesitantly. "Harry... You know you're going to have to kill Voldemort, don't you?"

Harry was a bit surprised at the – at least, for him – abrupt change of topic. "Yes," he said simply. He had told Hermione and Ron at the beginning of their six year about the Prophecy, and so far, they had been a great help. Even Ron, who had finally gotten over his crush on Hermione and found himself someone who could love him back. "What's that got to do with the energy thing?"

"Everything," Hermione said, clamping her hands together tightly. "We know that Voldemort tried to become immortal, right? And he is – at least his body can't 'die', so-to-speak. You know how you have to destroy Voldemort, don't you?"

"I have to wipe out his soul, I know."

"Harry," Hermione said emphatically, "a wizard's soul consists of his magical core... You can't destroy energy. You can't destroy magic. And you can't destroy the soul of a wizard, either. This isn't good, Harry. I don't know how we can work around this."

Harry wasn't listening anymore. He kept repeating the words in his head. 'Magic is energy.' Dumbledore had said so. Dumbledore had let it slip. No, Dumbledore had looked like he had let it slip. Dumbledore was a manipulative schemer. Dumbledore kept dropping hints, so Harry could work them out on his own. As if Harry had had those ideas himself.

Dumbledore had sacrificed Snape for the cause. Out-sorted and disregarded. Dumbledore would have let him die; thought him dead, as it was, because Draco had never told the Headmaster the truth.

It was a widely known fact that Harry Potter was not one of the brightest students. That didn't mean he was stupid, though. Sometimes, he was able to work things out himself. Sometimes he needed a little push from Hermione in the right direction. And sometimes he wasn't as painfully honest as the girl.

'Let me entertain you,' Harry thought, gazing unseeingly into the flames. 'Look me up in the yellow pages. I am the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Played-With.'

Harry blinked, quickly masking his resolve.

"I don't know, either," he lied, shooting Hermione a look. "I wish I did..."

* * *

Harry knew that Voldemort would strike. He knew it before Dumbledore told him. Three days after Draco had given him the information. Dumbledore was a manipulative schemer. And Harry couldn't help feeling that he might miss it – in another life.

Harry was absolutely in balance. And soon enough, the world would be, too. It was only a small calculation in the bigger schemes of the equation. It was all in the scales, and as long as they were balanced, the universe was all right.

Destiny was a cruel thing. Always had been to Harry. He came to accept it, though. Because he was in balance.

* * *

"And we meet again, Harry Potter," Voldemort pronounced with great distaste. "I am growing tired of your games of hide and seek. I will end your miserable life, now, once and for all. You will be able to rejoin your parents. Isn't that something to look forward to?" The snakelike mouth morphed into a sneer.

It could have been a beautiful day. Some – mostly dark wizards – might consider it a beautiful day, still. Harry, though, couldn't help but disagree. He had always thought the day of the final battle would be dreary, cloudy, cold. But it was sunny and warm. Death Eaters were swarming around the ground like overgrown beetles. Only one blonde head was missing. He was dead, Harry was glad to know. Draco had told him. Voldemort had thought Lucius had helped Snape escape from his prison, because he was the only one with the needed abilities. And he had been Snape's friend. Or so Voldemort thought.

"Yes, it is something to look forward to," Harry found himself agreeing as the battle raged on around them. He and Voldemort were in the middle of the school ground, surrounded by a protective bubble Dumbledore had invented. Muted battle sounds reached Harry's ears, but he tried to block it all out. He didn't have the time to worry for the lives of his friends. He was busy protecting them.

Dumbledore might have been a manipulative schemer, but he also knew how Harry's mind worked. Maybe that made him even more dangerous than Voldemort. You-Know-Who had never managed to kill Harry, after all.

"Prepare to die," Voldemort hissed, brandishing his wand. There wasn't going to be a repeat of the Priori Incantatem fiasco like at the Little Hangleton graveyard.

"I am prepared," Harry whispered, so Voldemort couldn't hear him, adding louder, "but I'm not going alone!" He, too, whipped up his wand, the curse already on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to think of anything. Everything that he was going to miss. Everything that he wouldn't experience. Everything that he would never feel. Everything that Draco would. But not with him.

"Arrogance doesn't suit you," Voldemort hissed. His eyes held a maniac gleam as he started his incantation. He didn't see it coming. His end. But then again, one rarely does. One cannot live while the other survives. Voldemort didn't know. Harry's death would kill him, as well. Harry didn't want to die at Voldemort's hands, though.

Harry whispered a quick, very simple slicing spell, holding his wand to his own throat. And it was red. Not green like the Killing Curse he had always dreamed of. Red like the blood rushing out of the mortal wound. Red like Voldemort's eyes, widening in horror as the equation righted itself automatically. Red like Draco's face, leaning over him, and shaking him, and screaming at him, and crying over him.

But why was he crying? Harry wasn't dead - yet. Voldemort was in his death throes. Draco would be free of his supposed master. Not even the self declared Dark Lord could cheat against the magical equations. One life for another. The world had to be in balance. Take one, give the other. And Voldemort had marked Harry as his equal. Take the equal, give Voldemort's life to balance it out. It was all in the scales. Very simple calculations. Even Hermione should have been able to work it out. But Hermione was not here. Hermione was gagged and bound in Myrtle's bathroom. Harry hadn't wanted to hurt her. He hadn't wanted to let her die, either...

* * *

As Harry came to again, he was blinded by light. It was white, painfully so, and he had to squint his eyes against the incoming rays. Everything hurt. The breathing, the seeing, the being.

There were his parents, though, Harry could make them out clearly. And he would have smiled and laughed if he'd had the energy to do so. Energy had cost his life, however. And he didn't want to think about that right now.

"How are you, Harry?" his mother asked, smiling softly.

Harry tried to say he was all right, that he didn't hurt, that he was happy, but he couldn't. His throat didn't listen to any commands. His mother understood, anyway. She reached for a beaker with fluid and let him drink a bit to soothe his sore throat.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," his father whispered, reaching for Harry's hand. He seemed almost afraid to break him, his touch was so soft. Harry was dead, though, nothing was going to kill him anymore. "I love you..."

Suddenly the pain increased behind Harry's eyes. He squeezed them shut, blinking against tears. The fingers on his hand tightened comfortingly.

Something was wrong.

He was dead. Why did he hurt so much, then? And why was he blinded? And why could he drink?

"How are you?" his mother had asked.

He was dead. How should he feel about that?

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," his father had whispered.

It had been over fifteen years. So soon?

Harry was dead. And something was wrong.

"I love you..." he had said.

Something was wrong. Harry was dead. But he knew the fingers tightening on his hand. Sure, and soft, and warm. Harry was dead. And something was-

"Please," Harry rasped out painfully.

Harry was not dead. And something was right.

* * *

"If I weren't so happy to have you alive, I'd kill you myself," Hermione said angrily, flexing her fingers. Harry grinned, and she rolled her eyes. "The next time you're going to pull a stunt like that, I'm definitely going to carry out my threat, rest assured."

"There isn't going to be a next time," Harry whispered, rubbing at the small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore. "Never again, I promise. I've seen enough death to last two lifetimes."

"I almost killed him, Dumbledore, you know," Draco said suddenly. "I would have, too. I didn't care about Azkaban or anything at the moment. I didn't care about anything but that he killed you."

Harry was silent. Hermione averted her eyes. Draco shrugged.

"I'm glad you didn't," Harry whispered.

"He was already dead when I got to him," Draco said coldly. "Take one life and give the other. All that crap he sprouted. He couldn't have killed you, Harry, but he would have. I tell you, he would have, if he'd had to. He only saw the bigger picture, the great picture. Whether or not he destroyed lives on his way, he didn't care. At least he recognised his own role in the bigger schemes, in the end."

"Dumbledore didn't have to exchange his magical core with Harry, though," said Hermione gently. Draco bristled, and Harry rubbed at the small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore. "He didn't have to mark him as his equal."

"He wanted to be remembered as a saint," Draco spat. "How selfless of him."

"Or maybe he wanted to right some of his wrongs?" Hermione suggested softly.

"Wrongs he did to his beloved Gryffindors, you mean?" Draco's eyes were hard, and Hermione couldn't hold his gaze for long. "Just as I thought."

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Harry said hoarsely. "They are both dead. Voldemort and Dumbledore. Both manipulative schemers. Snape can come back to Hogwarts if he wants to. Everything will be back to normal in no time."

Hermione and Draco looked at him, nodding slowly. Voldemort was dead. And Dumbledore was dead.

Harry was not, though. And something, no, everything was right.

End-

A/N: I hope that made sense. I'm a bit confused now, as well, if it's any consolation.

Review responses at my Livejournal 


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